


Unbroken

by icandrawamoth



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [14]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Maternal Instinct, Psychometry, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019, badthingshappenbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 04:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20860145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: Cal returns from two days of Imperial imprisonment a little worse for wear.





	Unbroken

**Author's Note:**

> For Whumptober day one prompt "shaky hands" and badthingshappenbingo prompt "mind rape." Also inspired by a conversation with aphorisnt re the possibilities of psychometry-based whump.

Cal meets the _Stinger Mantis_ at the agreed-upon rendezvous point and climbs aboard without a word. He looks ragged, his jacket and gloves missing, his hair messy, but what Cere really notices is the trembling. It shakes his entire frame from stiff shoulders to the shaky hands he tries to hide in his pockets.

She wants to ask if he's okay, but even having never experienced it herself, she knows what the answer is after two days in Imperial captivity. Two days with the Second Sister. But he survived, he escaped, he's back with them now. Time to start dealing with the damage.

She sits him down to the meal she'd prepared to bleed off her nerves while they waited for him, including a mug of tarine tea, knowing he won't have eaten well, if at all, in that place. At first, Cal just stares at the food as if he doesn't know what to do with it – or he just can't bring himself to eat. There's a haunted look in his eyes that's making Cere more and more nervous.

Finally, he takes a few hesitant bites, then reaches for the tea. He doesn't drink, merely holds the mug in his palms and stares into its depths. Without looking up, he says softly, “She knew about my psychometry.”

Even as Cere watches, his hands start shaking again, making the tea jump and splash. A bevy of images flash through her mind, ways the Second Sister could have used that knowledge to hurt him, each worse than the last.

She swallows and asks, “Cal, what happened?”

His hands shake even harder. Cere wants to put hers over his, to offer some sort of support and calm, but she knows touching him there now is a bad idea. She wonders if he's picking up anything from the mug besides the physical warmth and whether she should offer to go after his spare gloves right now.

“She tortured me,” Cal says, quiet and matter-of-fact. He still doesn't look up. “She restrained me to a torture chair, but she didn't turn it on. When she tied me with my palms flat against the frame, I thought it was strange, but I didn't realize. I don't know how she did it, but she was in my head somehow. I couldn't block her out. She made me-” He looks up suddenly, hazel eyes bleeding pain. “I felt them, Cere. Every person she ever put in that chair. Their fear and pain and despair and-” His voice cracks. “I felt them _die_. Just like it was happening to me. Over and over and over.” His hands leave the mug suddenly and bunch in his hair, so tight his knuckles turn white.

Cere is up and around the table without conscious thought, but one she's at his side, she doesn't know what to do. She still doesn't know if touching him will hurt him more. “Cal?” she asks, making her voice as soft and gentle as possible.

He looks up at her, eyes brimming with tears he's somehow still holding back. She reaches out slowly, a question. Cal lets out a shaky breath and gives a tiny nod.

Careful to avoid his hands, Cere touches his hair, smoothing the disheveled red strands like a mother might do for a sick child. The protective instinct she always feels when she sees him hurt is roaring at full volume in the back of her head.

Cal whimpers softly, dropping his hands as Cere continues her soothing ministrations.

“You escaped,” she tells him, gentle and reassuring. “You survived. You're back with us. You're safe now. That's never going to happen to you again.”

“I didn't tell her anything,” Cal says, voice thick. “Not about you or Greez or the ship or our mission or anything.”

“I never thought you would. You did well, Cal. I'm proud of you.”

Those are that words that break the dam. The boy sniffles, then sobs, shoulders hunching as he instinctively tries to hide it.

Cere lets the strands of his hair slip from her fingers and bends to his level. “Cal, can I hug you?”

He doesn't seem able to speak through his tears, but the way he opens his arms is answer enough. Cere gathers him close, reaching out with the Force to wrap a soothing, protective blanket around him.

“I'm sorry,” he manages finally, mumbling into her shoulder. “I'm sorry. I-”

“Shh,” Cere murmurs, rubbing his back. “It's all right. You have nothing to apologize for. I can't imagine what that was like.”

Cal shakes his head mutely as if he can't really describe it either.

Cere continues to hold him as he trembles and cries, pressing comfort at him through the Force and through gentle touch. At long last, his grows still, and his crying quiets, but still he doesn't pull away.

“What do you need now?” Cere asks. “How can I help?”

Cal sighs heavily, sitting back a little and wiping his cheeks with unsteady fingers. “I just...need time, I think,” he decides on. “Other things to think about.” He glances up at her, his eyes sliding away just as quickly. “And new gloves. I can't...do that again for awhile, I think.”

Cere nods. It's not the first time his psychometry has gotten to be too much for him, though it's never been like this. “We'll get you some nice ones at our next stop,” she promises. “For now, would you like me to get your spares while you keep eating?”

Cal looks dubiously at his cooling food.

“Only as much as you can manage,” Cere encourages. “I think it'll help you feel steadier. I'll get your gloves.”

Cal nods slightly and picks up his fork. He still looks unsteady, but his eyes are dry again. Cere squeezes his shoulder before heading off.

It only takes her only moments to find Cal's spare gloves tucked away in his trunk. While the glove he normally wears on his missions was tough nerf-leather, these are merely thin fabric, intended to keep fingers warm on cold days. They're comfort objects more than anything else, meant to let him keep as much movement as possible while dismissing the possibility of activating his power while he doesn't feel able to deal with it. Cere pulls her sleeve down over her hand as she retrieves them, careful not to transfer any of her own essence into the objects.

When she returns to the galley, Greez and BD-1 have arrived. The pilot is helping himself to some food while the droid perches beside his master, beeping quietly. Cal has a small smile on his face as he nods in response and takes a bite of his meal.

Cere offers him the gloves, which he accepts with quiet thanks, and joins the rest at the table. She looks around their little family, warmth growing in her chest. It hurt all of them to have Cal gone, the three of them remaining worrying so much once they figured out he'd been captured. But now, even if they're a little more ragged, a little more worn, they're back together, still ready to fight. They've got each other, and that's what counts.


End file.
